


Got To Take The Rough With The Smooth

by sky_NoLimit



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: High School, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sixth Form, as we progress, not sure yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2115684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_NoLimit/pseuds/sky_NoLimit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aidan and Dean are sixth form students and are struggling to keep up with school, find romance and navigate the social intricacies of life. Fortunately, they have an abundance of friends and good teachers between them to aid their paths. It's not easy but they'll get there, hopefully...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got To Take The Rough With The Smooth

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know why but I had a dream about this and then it fell out of my hand onto my laptop. Oooops, well let's follow it and see what happens :)

          All too soon 7am rolled around and the horrendous screech of Dean’s alarm chased away the lingering dreams. Groggily Dean opened his eyes, moaning theatrically when the light that was battling its way through his curtains caught his eyes.

“Nnnngh....fuck off sunlight. Stop being so fucking cheerful” Dean whined pathetically as he turned away and fell back into slumber.

BANG! BANG! BANG! SLAM!

Brett burst into his brother’s room. That boy had far too much energy in the morning, Dean thought bitterly as he desperately tried to recapture sleep.

“Oi loser, mum says you need to get up or you’re going to be late and she’s not taking you to school” Brett called as he bounced into the room, his 12 years of energy flowing from his being.

“Shut it you turd” Dean growled, turning so he was face down into the pillow.

“Haha, yeah, good one, also...” Brett paused. “Mum says she loves me more and you’re adopted!” He yelled before fleeing the room, his raucous laughter ringing out.

          Dean heaved a sigh and promised himself that, for the sake of maintaining a solid sibling status-quo, he would give Brett a dead arm the next time he saw him. Rolling onto his back Dean accepted that it was finally time to get up, he didn’t want to be late with it still being the first week at his new high school. The first two days had passed without any great commotion. He had remained fairly anonymous and only spoken to a few people when he needed to, in truth Dean was really quite shy. This fact coupled with a global move from his very green native home of New Zealand all the way to Rickmansworth, a grotty Greater London suburb had not encouraged him to come out of his shell as his parents had hoped. Exhaling he flung himself over the side of the bed and stumbled haphazardly for the bathroom.

000

          Aidan lay comatose on his bed. His mouth was open, his eyes were closed and his brain had long since melted into the abyss of sleep. His phone rang and after several shrill rings Aidan roused himself enough from sleep to answer it.

“Whert?” Aidan grumbled.

“Boy, you had better be up!” His father growled. “It is the third day of sixth form and you should be pulling yourself together. You’re damn lucky to be in the sixth form in the first place, you’re only there because your English teacher vouched for your ability. God knows I wasn’t going to!” His father ranted on.

          Aidan put his father on speaker so he could lever himself upright and observe the chaos of his room, he noticed the time on his bedside clock, 7.55am. Bags of time, he thought with a smile. Fumbling at his bedside table he found a crumpled pack of cigarettes and his lighter, deftly lighting it and breathing his first inhale deeply. Mmmm, do love breakfast, he noted with a smirk.

“...and you had better not be having a cigarette for breakfast because if you are” his dad bawled on.

“Da, gotta go like, need to shower still. Have a good day” said Aidan merrily before promptly ending the call.

          He’d catch hell for hanging up on his dad that evening but frankly the man put himself into Aidans business too much. Aidan had an alarm, indeed he did, and it wasn’t his fault if his dad felt that 8.20am was cutting it fine for the 8.45am start. Continuing to intake his breakfast Aidan sauntered like a tom-cat to the bathroom. He had a free first anyways, he had time. The school demanded all lower sixth formers be there all day and were only allowed out at lunchtimes unlike the upper sixth formers who were allowed to attend and leave at the discretion of their timetable.

000

          Dean arrived promptly at the gates, checking his watch and discovering it was only 8.30am. It left him with 15 minutes to kill and despite the fact he still wasn’t entirely sure where his for room was he was confident he could find it in less than 15 minutes. Dean decided to take the opportunity to explore the building, his form room being at the back in one of the resistant materials rooms behind the large art building. This was where Deans passion lay and he wanted to investigate these rooms further, especially since he was going to be spending much time in them over the next two years and wanted to familiarise himself with what resources were available.

         Setting off at what he hoped was a casual pace, no desire to be the nerdy new guy; Dean progressed towards that art block. The block itself was relatively peaceful since the warm September weather was encouraging many of the students to bask in the dwindling sunshine on the school field before the day kick-started. Grateful for this Dean made his way through a series of three rooms all adorned with a variety of artwork from primarily the lower year groups. The tables were spattered with paint, glue patches pock-marked the floor and there were banners of colourful drawing zigzagging frantically across the room. Colourful and exuberant, exactly how it should be, Dean contemplated. Heading out of the rooms he moved to the stair case and proceeded onwards on his expedition. The next three rooms were more sedate in the sense that they were exponentially tidier than downstairs but still just as colourful as their walls too were adorned with students work. Dean noted from the title of the display board that this was GCSE and A-level work. The bulk of it was rather good and Dean soon lost himself in a series of photographs depicting some decaying strawberries. He didn’t see the long-legged blonde approach; it was only when she dropped her A3 folders down with a thump that he whirled around with a gasp.

"I’m sorry” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you jump but these were terribly heavy and I’ve just dragged them from my car all the way here.” She slumped into the chair at the large wooden desk and continued her surveying of Dean. “Good aren’t they?” She drawled in an entirely non-London accent. “A girl from my A-level photography class last year, very talented.”

“Urmm, yes, they are good. I like the lighting, makes it look like the strawberry is bleeding.” Dean slaps himself mentally, what a lovely comment you egg, what a black comment that was, shit she’ll think I’m an EMO or something.

“Yes!”She says rising up and fluidly crossing the room to the pictures. “It really does, brings out a whole new level of thought to the idea of death in other things. How the strawberries demise can be so similar to that of a person. Good spot.”

“Thanks,” Dean whispers.

“Ms. Blanchett, art and photography teacher. If I’m not mistaken, you are a Kiwi” Ms. Blanchett says giving Dean a motherly smile.

"I am and you are Australian” Dean responds, bashing himself immediately at his overly familiar statement.“I-I mean I’m Dean, Ms. Blanchett and y-yes I just moved here from Auckland,” Dean cringes internally, hoping he hasn’t scuppered his impression with a member of staff.

She laughed jovially at his feeble cover up. “Dean, its fine. Yes, I am Aussie but I have been here for over a decade with my husband. You are new this year?” She asked pleasantly. But before Dean could respond three rambunctious year 11 boys walked in and took their seats chatting animatedly.

“Ooh best be off Dean, it’s almost 8.45. But perhaps I will see you soon in these rooms?” She smiled and turned to her desk.

          Dean took his opportunity and made for the door, once in the corridor he breathed a relieved sigh. Not bad, but he would have to watch his tone, he wanted the teachers like him and the best way to do that was to be respectful. He hurried down the staircase and made for the back of the art block which joined onto the resistant materials rooms. Honestly, Dean thought, why can’t they just call it woodwork?

000

          It was 8.55am when Aidan first graced the halls of the school, really quite premature for him really but he was meant to be making a good impression. He strolled down the corridor in his scruffy plaid shirt with grey under shirt peaking through the undone top buttons. His heavy duty biker boots thumped dully as he headed for his locker, he would have gone to his form room but felt it would have been redundant since he needed his timetable from his locker to find first lesson. Gracefully moving through the doorway he was in the process of congratulating himself on not greeting any staff when a deep voice called a halt to his success.

“School, Mr. Turner, begins at 8.45 sharp. You, are ten minutes late.”

Aidan hesitated for a moment cursing his luck but decided he may as well admit defeat with honour.

“I arrived precisely when I meant to” Aidan replied with a toothy grin. “Sir.” He hastened to add, not need to add being disrespectful to his list of offences.

“I do not approve of being late or your clothing” the grey haired man stated calmly.

          Aidan took a deep breath, unsure of what to do. The headmaster came towards him, his grey beard and deep blue eyes giving him a sombre appearance. Aidan did not fear much, or at least he would hardly show that he did, but the old grey man wrong footed him. Aidan couldn’t measure whether he approved of Aidans methods in handling education or if he disapproved of everything Aidan displayed from his nonchalant attitude to his unkempt appearance. The man entered into Aidan’s personal space and the teenager shrunk back minutely.

          Prof. McKellen surveyed the boy down his long crooked nose, he knew Aidan was bright and capable, he knew the boy had promise of a good future; he knew the boy took the pressures and intimidation from his father with a straight back. He decided, given that he was pleased the boy had returned for sixth form at all, to let this infraction pass. He might even throw the youth a bone on this occasion.

“You should hurry along, can’t have you being late for history with Mr. Hambleton. Off with you, quick” he said with a definite twinkle but giving no smile away.

“Yes, Sir” Aidan said quietly still observing the man for any indication of the headmasters opinion of him.

          Prof. McKellen turned away and moved steadily down the hall almost as if he were enjoying a public park on a Sunday afternoon. Aidan stood dumbstruck having expected a detention and a lecture on his poor performance but been left with a brief conversation and a direction for his first lesson. Perhaps this sixth form gig wasn’t going to be so bad after all.


End file.
